“Don’t give up the ship.”

Those five words were the dying command of Captain James Lawrence during the War of 1812. Mortally wounded, he gasped this final order to his crew as the ship slipped into enemy hands. Lawrence didn’t live to see what his words would spark—but his friend, Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry, did.

Perry took those words to heart. Before leading his squadron into the Battle of Lake Erie, he had a giant blue battle flag stitched with Lawrence’s dying words: “Don’t give up the ship.” The flag flew high as Perry’s fleet met the British, outnumbered and outgunned. When Perry’s own ship was battered beyond hope, he didn’t surrender. Instead, he climbed into a rowboat and crossed open water, cannonballs crashing around him, to board another vessel and continue the fight.

Perry’s daring paid off. Against the odds, he led his fleet to victory—a turning point in the war. In his report to General William Henry Harrison, a future president, Perry wrote the now-famous line: “We have met the enemy and they are ours.”

All because of five words on a flag.

“Don’t give up the ship.”

This ancient admonition feels relevant to Catholics today. It speaks to the storms we face in our faith and our daily lives.

The Church herself, with 2,000 years of history, can feel like that battered ship. Rocked by waves. Pummeled by criticism. Easy to abandon. But the Church is also the original vessel—the oldest Christian faith, Christ’s ship, steered by saints and ordinary souls trying to reach the shore.

“Don’t give up the ship” could mean: Stay in the boat. Even when the crew is imperfect. When the storms are fierce. When the pope and the president change. Don’t leap overboard. There’s safety and strength here. Remember what St. Peter said when others walked away from Jesus: “Lord, to whom shall we go?” (Jn 6:68)

Or maybe it means: Don’t give up who you are. When Instagram tells you who to be—from your eyebrows to your toenails—it’s easy to feel pulled off course. When you’re pulled in every direction, bailing water like you’re trying to empty the ocean with a teacup. Don’t surrender your true self, the child of God you were made to be.

Maybe it also speaks to your work. Are you tempted to trade meaning for money? Purpose for popularity? Don’t give up the ship. Stay with what matters most—even when it’s hard or hidden or feels small. The saints did. Joseph toiled in quiet carpentry. St. Thérèse of Lisieux changed the world from a cloister.

I think of the tired mom who makes one more peanut butter sandwich for the toddler clinging to her leg. The 20-something who shows up to daily Mass even when his friends roll their eyes. The seminarian who prepares a homily only five people will hear. They haven’t given up the ship.

Neither should we.

There’s a reason Jesus chose fishermen—men of the sea—as his first followers. They knew storms. They knew patience. They knew what it meant to trust the Captain when the sky turned dark.

“Don’t give up the ship” might be the rallying cry we need in 2025. When out-of-town tournaments threaten to crowd out Mass. When prayer feels dry. When madmen execute assassinations both far and near.

Hold steady. Row hard. Keep the faith, trusting the Captain who calms the waves.
 

(Christina Capecchi is a freelance writer from Grey Cloud Island, Minn.) †